


Two Such Souls

by henrywinters



Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Soft Boys, lots of romance and confusion because i am garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 12:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14213373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henrywinters/pseuds/henrywinters
Summary: Set in the nervous first months of university, Han Sanghyuk – an ordinary boy hounded by loneliness – meets a man as aggravating as he is wonderful.





	Two Such Souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amaelamin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaelamin/gifts).



> written for Helen Hansanq who hasn't only been a wonderful friend since the very start, but also a good person I am proud to know. I hope your birthday is as lovely as you deserve it to be ♡ here is a super fluffy love piece all for you ~ ♡

 

 

 

⯈1  It was that time of year when the sky brimmed grey in the morning and the leaves turned brittle, swarming in the winds as dead things do; the start of term came quickly as rushing waters. Sanghyuk found himself drowned beneath the perplexity of his first year of university.

 

At nineteen, he found he stood taller than all others in his first year classes. He became exceedingly aware of his poor posture. How in the time between high school and college he had began to force himself smaller to fit in better with those around him. But even then, he found it difficult to find comfort in his surroundings. He was, after all, a year older than the others – for he had taken a year to himself to tend the grounds and his own mother's needs of home – and, strangely, somehow, he was much more boyish than any other he had met thus far.

 

Older, taller, with a youth about him that he could not for the sake of him shake in those beginning weeks of school, Sanghyuk found it harder each day to rise when the sun did and to take it upon himself to finish the daily studies. So on the morning of 5 October, as he sat in bed, beguiled by the flocking ravens in the courtyard outside his dorm window, Sanghyuk was not at all pleased by the entrance of Lee Hongbin – the only friend in the world he seemed to have.

 

“Won't you get out of bed?” Hongbin urged. “Do you know what time it is?”

 

Sanghyuk did, but shaking his head to feign ignorance, he was amused at once by Hongbin's disturbance.

 

“Do you know _anything_?” he demanded, lightly.

 

“No, nothing.” Sanghyuk threw himself down into bed, stuffing his face into the pillows. “You already _know_ that.”

 

“Sure. But anyway. You should get up. It's almost after noon and you're still lying around like you haven't missed three classes already.”

 

Hongbin was festering beneath the worry of something. It became only apparent after he had thrown off his overcoat, sitting for only a moment at Sanghyuk's desk, then back onto his feet to grab his overcoat once again. He paced the room slowly with his hands thrust into his trouser pockets, as if awaiting Sanghyuk's notice.

 

Sanghyuk was baited.

 

He sat up and demanded to know: “ _What_ is it? What do you want?”

 

“I've been invited to lunch with the head director.”

 

“Well, that's _something_.”

 

“Isn't it?” Hongbin threw himself back into the desk chair. “But I can't go alone. I'll ruin it all for myself and I know it.” He pleaded with his eyes before he could get the words out, and ready to be denied Hongbin rose up again and laid a hand on Sanghyuk's leg. “I came to ask if you'll come with me. I know what you're going to say — _Don't_ look at me like that, Hyuk-ie, you don't have to worry. You'll go unnoticed. Why would he care about a first year anyway?”

 

Sanghyuk didn't know if he ought to be scandalized or offended. He sat in silence, for he was sure Hongbin had already thought up every reason for him to attend. Sanghyuk could imagine he had worked all morning to build up his courage and would not take any answer but the one he wanted. So he sat and pondered for only a moment until the ravens caught his eye again. Looking out the window, he answered with a curt nod and a gruff and tired: “Well, I suppose.”

 

Hongbin was not the kind to show great joy. But he was thankful, it was obvious. He leaned his head down and pressed his nose to the crown of Sanghyuk's head. “Wear something nice and meet me in the courtyard in exactly an hour. It'll be wonderful and easy, I'm telling you.”

 

“I don't believe you.”

 

“You don't have to. You'll see.”

 

Then he was out of the room, excitability sweeping him all but off his feet; and the door came closed with a wild bang that sobered Sanghyuk at once.

 

He threw himself down again and stared up at the ceiling with a great wave of dismay settling over him. But he was grateful, at the very least, to have this one friend university deemed him worthy of. And it was this thought that pulled him out of bed and into a pair of pressed trousers.

 

He was able to clean up smartly enough. He admitted this to himself as he admired his reflection in the washroom. But he knew better than to overshadow Hongbin and so let his hair lay flat across his forehead. He left the top button of his dress shirt open in hopes of appearing as disheveled as he felt. But how foolish these decisions seemed later, upon realizing their luncheon was far more intimate that Hongbin had let on.

 

Sanghyuk had not given thought to any other scenario than the obvious one: the three of them dining in an off campus restaurant, not far from the safety of the courtyards and the commons. But as Hongbin guided him across campus towards the headmaster building where the director's personal office resided, Sanghyuk's heart all but plummeted into his belly. He balked at the door.

 

“ _Here_?” he whispered. “You didn't tell me it was a _personal_ lunch. I can't be here!”

 

Hongbin hushed him with a glare. “I told you it's _fine_. His orderly will be there too. That's how I know he won't mind.”

 

“Orderly?”

 

“His assistant. Oh, that man that walks around campus all the time looking miserable. You know the one.”

 

“Hongbin, I haven't the _slightest_ who you're talking about.”

 

“It doesn't matter. Listen—” he placed a hand on the side of Sanghyuk's face, his palm a warm comfort that was terribly confusing. Like a sated pet, Sanghyuk listened.

 

“None of this really matters. He might ask you a couple questions about your major. But you just tell him the truth, that you haven't an idea of what you're going to major in yet because you're a first year. I'm sure that will be it. Now stop _fussing_. He can hear us out here for all we know.”

 

“Then _why_ did you want me here if nothing really mattered?”

 

“For moral support, of course.”

 

This was enough to keep Sanghyuk hushed. But it was not enough to stop the nerves that bundled up inside him.

 

Hongbin knocked carefully before allowing himself to enter; and upon entering, both boys were assaulted by the overpowering aroma of teak wood and potpourri. Inside, the office was glaringly bright with light as fresh as summer morning coming through the windows.

 

It was a large room, opened up by the light and brought together by an immaculately set table for three. The director, who rose from behind his desk, greeted them kindly enough with a warm smile and a genial handshake that though his grip was too tight for comfort, was comforting all the same. He was an aged man with a gentlemanly air that seemed to surround him like an aura; his hair was thinning, but neatly combed back to reveal the dagger-like set of his eyes.

 

“And who is this?” he inquired, seeming to lean toward Sanghyuk much closer than what deemed necessary. “A friend?”

 

“Yes,” Hongbin delighted. “My closest friend. I thought it would be nice he came along.”

 

“Sure,” the director said without any sign of true emotion. His smile did not falter, but it was this lack of openness that forced Sanghyuk into himself.

 

Formalities were exchanged, and though the director did not seem nonplussed by Sanghyuk's company, it was apparent in small ways that he was not as welcomed as either Hongbin or himself had thought he would be. It was said in the way the director barely acknowledged him; how, after his assistant – truly a man that looked more miserable than Sanghyuk felt – joined them, Sanghyuk was demoted to a chair unlike the other three. It was of a different color, aged and badly worn-in. And he sat upon it with growing unease as tea was poured and Hongbin was spoken to of his promising future. He was a writer. A very good one that the director hoped to see published soon. He wanted Hongbin to submit his work to the board of recognition, so that he may carry the school's name farther than it has been carried in the past. This is what they spoke of as Sanghyuk stared on, feeling smaller than he had ever felt in his life. It did not help in the slightest that the assistant – introduced as Taekwoon – stared across the table at Sanghyuk with a smirk that said, _I can feel your discomfort_.

 

He was a devastatingly handsome man with eyes sharp as light and Sanghyuk could not bring himself to return his glance.

 

“And you, young man,” the director said, suddenly. He turned his attention to Sanghyuk without warning. “Will you be as promising as your friend here?”

 

Sanghyuk crimsoned. “Maybe one day.”

 

“That's the idea.” The director smiled. “You're awfully young, aren't you? A first year?”

 

It was Hongbin that answered for him, with a gallant, “Yes. But he's very modest and he won't tell you how intelligent he is, even for a first year. He's an artist in the marking, I'm sure of it.”

 

Sanghyuk felt the urge to kick the boy beneath the table. He wanted badly to jab the toe of his shoe into Hongbin's ankle and watch the smugness leave his face. His stomach fluttered terribly.

 

“I'm still deciding what to study,” he said weakly.

 

“Well,” the director said, “you have all the time in the world to figure it out.”

 

“So they say.”

 

“So they say,” he repeated. Then at once, his attention was back on Hongbin who took it in proudly. Across the table, Taekwoon rose.

 

“You two have a lot to talk about and I'm sure Sanghyuk has class to tend to.” Taekwoon laid a hand on the director's shoulder. “If you'll excuse us.”

 

He was met with understanding and beckoned Sanghyuk out of the room at once. There was little hope to stay behind. Sanghyuk tried, desperately, to convey this as Hongbin glowered across the room.

 

In the hall, after the door was closed lightly, Taekwoon said: “Usually, if you want to get on his good side, you shouldn't come in looking so frightened.”

 

Sanghyuk flared. “I'm not _frightened_.”

 

“I'm only telling you.”

 

“I didn't want to come,” Sanghyuk whined. “I told him, I said I was afraid of imposing and still! He wanted me here.” He hated the way Taekwoon began to smile with his lips pressed tightly together as if to stifle a laugh.

 

Unsure of his anger, but needing a place to put it, Sanghyuk scolded: “You're the one trying to get rid of me. I could have sat in there just fine.”

 

“I'm not getting rid of you. I'm giving you a way out.”

 

“I didn't _need_ a way out.”

 

Taekwoon regarded Sanghyuk lightly. “How old are you?” he asked.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you're acting like a baby.”

 

“I am _not—_!”

 

“Do you hear yourself?”

 

Without much notice, the two of them had left the headmaster building and were walking with speed across campus. It was as if their argument, however futile and juvenile Taekwoon may have thought it was, fueled their journey across the courtyard. It wasn't until Taekwoon stopped abruptly, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting two, that Sanghyuk realized where they were.

 

Taekwoon handed him a cigarette without word. Sanghyuk did not smoke, but thought it rude to deny him.

 

He murmured, “It's just that. . . well, the director can be a little intimidating.”

 

Taekwoon nodded. “He's supposed to be. But you were fearing him like he was the next coming of Jesus and there's no need for that.”

 

“You have this way about yourself,” Sanghyuk spat, “that is really irritating.”

 

“He's my Father—”

 

“Your _Father_?”

 

“I'm telling you,” Taekwoon went on, “that he isn't God, so don't act like he is. You first years give him more credit than he deserves. He's a good man, but he isn't terrifying.”

 

Taekwoon walked on and as he went, Sanghyuk found it difficult to continue walking beside him. He let the cigarette smolder between his fingers, ashing when Taekwoon ashed, but ultimately hoping it would burn out before Taekwoon noticed he had not smoked it. He was aware of a new nervousness that entered him.

 

“What's your next class?” Taekwoon called back. He stopped once noticing Sanghyuk had started to lag behind.

 

“I'm not going to class today.”

 

“Why? Is school not good enough for you?”

 

Sanghyuk's nerves eased as Taekwoon balanced himself directly at the end of them. “Why do you care anyway? Aren't you just an orderly?”

 

“An orderly?”

 

“That's what Hongbin called you.”

 

Taekwoon cursed. “No. I'm not an _orderly_.”

 

A thrill touched Sanghyuk as he recognized annoyance in Taekwoon's tone. He carried on, carelessly: “Does it bother you to be called that? Because you have to work for your Father?”

 

But Taekwoon would not be baited as Sanghyuk had been. And with a final flick of his cigarette, tossing the butt onto the lawn before stomping it out, Taekwoon gave a singular, “All right,” and turned to leave.

 

Sanghyuk let him go, for there was no reason to chase after him and no compulsion to do so either. But the flare of triumph he felt for unsettling the other died away almost instantly as Taekwoon left him there to stand alone in the courtyard with a cigarette he did not want, but felt bad for wasting.

 

He let it burn out on its own before returning to his dorm.

 

 

 

 

⯈2  November was approaching quickly and the leaves no longer idled on trees but fell with rapid speed across the fields as delicate as dandelions in spring. They covered the grounds and clung to the bottom of shoes, tracked across commons and into dorm rooms where they were left until collected later by a noticing eye. And in this time, as autumn fell all around him, Sanghyuk was perplexed by the reoccurring – and often startling – realization that Taekwoon had been all around him, he had simply never noticed.

 

Sanghyuk would spot him across the courtyards, within busy hallways, always headed somewhere with deliberate ease. It was infuriating the way he carried himself. Stolid as a monk with a torpid way about himself as if there was never a thought inside his head. He was polite when approached, but at once stoic when alone; he was fascinating in a way that Sanghyuk could not understand.

 

“Perhaps, you are having a sexual awakening.”

 

It was not so much what Hongbin had said that horrified Sanghyuk, but the unaffected way of which he said it.

 

With laughter in his eyes, Hongbin said: “I'm only teasing you. But, I digress. He's very handsome.”

 

Sanghyuk – who had been lying in bed during this awful exchange – rolled onto his stomach to press his face against the mattress. “You're disgusting and I can't stand you.”

 

“Do you have to take offense to everything?” It was impossible that Hongbin hide his delight. He abandoned the work he had been pouring over to sit on the bed beside Sanghyuk. Lying down beside him, he said again, “I'm teasing. Don't act this way.”

 

“All I asked was why I had never noticed him before.”

 

“Your exact words were, _why hadn't I noticed him before when he's so riveting_.”

 

Cursing, Sanghyuk turned over. “I _never_ said riveting!”

 

“Then what was it you said?”

 

“Interesting! I said _interesting_.”

 

“Enchanting?” Hongbin pestered. “Is that what you said.”

 

“I can't _stand_ you—” Sanghyuk shoved Hongbin from the bed, laughing as he did so. And before the boy could continue to tease him, he pushed off the comforter and the pillows too, until Hongbin lay buried beneath it all.

 

Surfacing, Hongbin said: “Maybe you feel bad because you were a brat when you first spoke to him.”

 

“That might be it. But he still deserved it.”

 

“Do you think he wanted to walk you to class that day? And that's why he asked what your next class was?”

 

This thought had occurred – and reoccurred – many times to Sanghyuk over the past weeks. But it was not one that he had spoken aloud. To hear it now made his face warm with color. “I doubt it.”

 

“Here's a thought,” Hongbin declared. “Why don't you simply go tell him hello?”

 

“How stupid. What am I supposed to do? Walk up to him and say, _hullo, remember me?_ ”

 

“Yes, why not?”

 

“I'll look like an idiot.”

 

Sanghyuk did not want to hear what else Hongbin had to say and so rose from the bed and collected his jacket which lay over the back of his desk chair.

 

“I have class in twenty minutes. Want to walk me?” he jeered, lightly.

 

“If you insist.”

 

The two of them walked the campus arm in arm as the cool wind blew until their noses were rosy with color. Then they parted ways as Sanghyuk mounted the steps to the art building and Hongbin, continuing alone to the library, waved good-by.

 

Away from the cold, Sanghyuk found it was easy these days to fall into a tranquil state as the classroom was devastatingly warm. He sank low in his seat with heavy-lidded eyes that struggled to keep open; and as the professor droned on melodically as music in the background of a busy restaurant, Sanghyuk fell into himself.

 

“I didn't know you had this class.”

 

Unsure of being spoken to, Sanghyuk ignored this intrusion. Until there came a succession of three solid raps on his desk.

 

He startled. Certain he would find his professor hovering over him with indignation, Sanghyuk at first shied away, then glanced upward. But there, above him, smiling warmly, was simply Taekwoon.

 

“Are you in this class?” he demanded quietly, but at once knew this couldn't be. “Why are you here?”

 

“I had to drop off paperwork.” Taekwoon spoke lowly. They were both aware of the chattering around them and the terrible shame that accompanied this unwanted attention.

 

Taekwoon crouched beside the desk. “Meet me when you're finished here. There's a pastry shop directly off campus. Across from the library. Will you?”

 

“Why should I?”

 

Though his mouth quirked as if to smile, Taekwoon rose indifferently. “Just as well. You don't have to.”

 

He turned to leave and Sanghyuk reached out, able to grab his wrist before he was too far out of reach.

 

Embarrassed by this bold act, Sanghyuk was unable to find his voice. He averted Taekwoon's questioning gaze and simply nodded his head. He hadn't a clue where the pastry shop was – and by the time the class dismissed, Taekwoon was nowhere to be found – and so Sanghyuk stalked the library for Hongbin who he found tucked far away in the west wing.

 

He looked very smart curled up in an arm-chair with a large, unlabeled book spread out across his lap.

 

“You idiot,” he whispered. “If you open your eyes, you'll see the shop is right _there_.” He pointed out the window and surely, he was right. But it was not so much the inability to find the shop that suddenly forged a seething nervousness in the pit of Sanghyuk's belly, but the idea that Taekwoon was there, somewhere, awaiting him.

 

“Why do you think he came to talk to me?”

 

“Perhaps you both feel a little bad for how you acted. But what ever the reason, you better go before he thinks you aren't coming. Wouldn't that be something? If he left right before you showed up.”

 

It was a thought Sanghyuk detested. And moments later – moments spent running across the campus fields, then across the narrow road that lay between the library and the small restaurant – Sanghyuk spotted Taekwoon at a table in the far eastern corner, beside a rack of newspapers.

 

He stood when Sanghyuk approached, then offered his hand.

 

Apologizing at once for the disturbance in class, Taekwoon went on to say: “I was surprised to see you there. I guess I couldn't walk off without saying something, because —Well, I won't say I've been looking for you, but you're awfully hard to find on campus.”

 

Sanghyuk thought of all the moments he had seen Taekwoon. How, even under dim light of dusk he had been able to recognize the other from afar.

 

“Really? So you _were_ looking for me?” He felt himself smile without meaning to. “I saw you a few times. I didn't think anything of it.”

 

“Well, that's all right. I wouldn't expect so much. But. . . I wanted to apologize for the other day.”

 

“It was almost three weeks ago.”

 

“Then I want to apologize for almost three weeks ago.” Taekwoon showed no sign of smiling. “If you'll accept such an apology.”

 

“Do you mean a terrible one?” Sanghyuk allowed a grin. “I'm only teasing. Sure, I'll accept it.”

 

Taekwoon nodded as if confirming something to himself. Then he stood and offered his hand once more. “Then all is well.”

 

“That's it?”

 

“Did you want something more?”

 

“No, I. . . I thought maybe you'd want to _talk_.”

 

“What about?”

 

It was terrible to be on the receiving end of that senseless, stolid gaze. Sanghyuk looked away. He looked at the floor and felt very foolish. “You made such a show in the classroom, like you had something important to say.”

 

“This wasn't important to you? It doesn't matter. It was more so an importance to me.”

 

“Oh—” Sanghyuk scowled. “Never mind.”

 

But he was horrified to see Taekwoon return to his seat. He placed his arms atop the table and brought his hands together once more. Leaning forward, he said: “If there's something you want to talk about, I don't mind.”

 

Sanghyuk could not recall any moment more humiliating than this one. To look into Taekwoon's face and see nothing but clueless wonderment; his eyes light as amber and just as piercing, awaiting Sanghyuk to say something of interest.

 

“No, there's nothing to talk about,” he despaired softly. “I have class, I'm sorry.” He gathered himself and left before Taekwoon could signal him back. But the humility followed him from the restaurant all across campus and back to his dorm where he reflected painstakingly, unable to find any reason to have been as annoyed and hurt as he had been by Taekwoon's sudden dismissal.

 

 

 

 

⯈3  “I offended you again.”

 

“You did no such thing.”

 

“You ran away.”

 

“For a man who said he was not looking for me, you seem to be finding me an awful lot this week.”

 

From where he stood between Sanghyuk and the library's entrance, Taekwoon blushed fiercely. Sanghyuk decided then that it was a lovely sight, for he was no longer the one ashamed.

 

“Why did you run off?” Taekwoon demanded weakly. It was as if he had lost all will to push forward. He had come with intent, but what intent he had harbored had now gone.

 

Sanghyuk felt a spark of sympathy. “I was embarrassed,” he whispered. “Now, will you _please_. . .” He moved toward the entrance only to be stopped again.

 

“Why are you so embarrassed all the time?”

 

“I don't _know_. It's an affliction.”

 

“An _affliction_?”

 

“A birth defect.”

 

Taekwoon continued to stare in his rather unsettling way, until Sanghyuk declared: “It's a _joke_ , Taekwoon.”

 

“Right. Of course.”

 

“Now will you let me by?”

 

“Would you like to get a coffee with me?”

 

Sanghyuk paused only long enough to blink. “Right now?”

 

“If you can spare the time.”

 

He bubbled with an excitement that both startled and left him smitten. “Well, I guess I could. If you _really_ wanted to.”

 

 

•••

 

 

They came to a coffee house far from campus, having taken Taekwoon's car. It was a fairly small vehicle that was difficult to collapse into. But once inside, with heat overtaking the powerful cold of coming evening, Sanghyuk had all but forgotten the cramped space which held him awkwardly. He lay his head against the seat and let his eyes shut, listening quite closely to the hum of the motor and the radio which came in static bursts as they passed beneath canopies of barren trees.

 

It was only after they arrived, taking up in a booth far from the entrance, that Taekwoon gave Sanghyuk his full attention.

 

He said, “I think this is the very first time I've seen you completely relaxed.”

 

Sanghyuk flustered at once. Quickly, for the sake of his beating heart, he demanded: “Why are you always about campus these days?”

 

“Haven't I always been?”

 

“Have you?”

 

“Sure. As I'm sure you have always been around, as well. There are so many people, it's hard to keep track of every one of them.”

 

A woman came to their table then, walking carefully as she set down two mugs brimming with black coffee. The steam rose like fire smoke; thick and mesmerizing as it curled above each cup.

 

“It _is_ a little funny, though,” Taekwoon went on. “When I saw you in that class – what class was that, sculpting?”

 

“Painting.”

 

“All right, painting. Well, it's rather funny that I've never seen you before, as I use the building just across the way, in the literature wing.”

 

“You study at the university?”

 

“You didn't know that?”

 

Sanghyuk shook his head and they both laughed, a little reluctantly. “I thought you only worked there. But literature? You and Hongbin would have a lot to talk about then.”

 

Taekwoon looked down into his coffee, blowing softly into the mug before taking a sip. “Who?” he asked.

 

“Hongbin,” Sanghyuk said again. Then, because Taekwoon could not seem to remember, he laughed a little and said: “The boy who met with your Father.”

 

“The one who said I was an orderly?”

 

“Yes, him.”

 

“Lovely boy,” Taekwoon said without emotion, so much like the director. “He _is_ very talented, but no. I'm not a writer. I only study the craft.”

 

Having this knowledge of him, it seemed, brought Taekwoon to balance beneath a different light. He spoke of Plato, of Socrates and The Iliad; and of the poets he had studied in his years abroad in the Americas. Stein and Eliot, and the most damning poem he'd ever read – _truly_ , he said _, I never want to read anything like it again_ – Paradise Lost.

 

“You're more cultured than I thought you were.” Sanghyuk realized too late how impolite it was to say such a thing. He clammed up. He shied away. He said, “I didn't mean to sound so. . .”

 

“It's fine,” Taekwoon laughed. It was a light, airy laugh that could not be anything but true.

 

“But, _you're_ the artist,” Taekwoon said. “You can paint. That's impressive.”

 

“I didn't say I was very good at it.”

 

“You say that like art has a criteria.”

 

“In university, it seems to.”

 

Taekwoon nodded with understanding, but would speak no more on the matter. Outside, the sky had darkened. Street lamps lighted the way from the coffee house windows down toward the dirt roads that would lead them back. He noticed the night before Sanghyuk had thought to check the time, and with a small wave of his hand, Taekwoon said: “Why don't we head back now? We've been here a while. You have class in the morning, don't you?”

 

“Do you really care if I do?”

 

“I'm being polite. Let's go.”

 

Once they had returned to campus, Sanghyuk made to leave but was soon stopped by a hand at his elbow.

 

“Do you want to come to the library with me?” Taekwoon inquired. He had lighted a cigarette and smoked with his head tipped back to avoid smoke in Sanghyuk's eyes.

 

“What for?”

 

“Well, only if you're interested, I'd like to show you a few of my favorite poets.”

 

Sanghyuk looked toward the dormitory. He saw the light in Hongbin's window burn bright across the fields. He wondered if Hongbin had noticed he had been gone all evening. He wanted very suddenly to tell Hongbin everything, from the way his heart beat differently to how his fingers tremored so slightly.

 

“Why not,” Sanghyuk said, still looking toward the building. “I don't really have a class in the morning, so I can spare the time.”

 

Thus was how the two of them found themselves sat across one another in arm-chairs of matching maroon suede, pouring over open books of Homer and Whitman, of Ted Hughes.

 

“And this one. . .” Taekwoon said, “is my favorite. Perhaps, my favorite of all time.”

 

It was a charmingly slim novel titled The Waste Land, and as Sanghyuk sat back, taken in by the droll of Taekwoon's gentle, tepid voice as he read of Elizabeth and Leicester and the beating of their oars, he found himself in a state he had never felt before: an unknown admiration for the man sat before him, who was so certainly sure of himself. In this moment, Sanghyuk thought him wonderful. It was a feeling that lasted well into the night and the mornings thereafter.

 

At sun up, which came later as the days waned long and fretfully cold, Sanghyuk would walk the school grounds with hands in his overcoat pockets, his hair windblown and swept backward; and he would be looking for the familiar set of Taekwoon's shoulders. Some mornings, he would spot him across the courtyards with a cigarette smoking in his mouth. And more often than he would have before, Sanghyuk found himself crossing that chasm of a field towards the man before him with his heart a little lighter, beating a little faster.

 

Formalities were often exchanged in the days that followed their evening trip to the coffee house, but the morning of 17 November – a lengthy three weeks after their meeting – Sanghyuk approached Taekwoon as relaxed as he had been upon waking. He walked carelessly, over-stepping fallen debris of autumn, his hands waved maddeningly in front of him as he spoke.

 

“There's this lake behind my house. It's such a lovely lake. Also a lovely house. My Mother and I moved there after my Father died, because _her_ Father insisted. But the house is too big, I think; and she can't maintain it any better than her old man can, because he's so _old_. You can't expect very much from him.”

 

“That's why you took the year off, then?” Taekwoon inquired.

 

“That, and because. . . well, I guess I didn't think I was any good at painting and I was a little afraid, you know? That maybe I'll come here and they'll _tell_ me that I'm not any good.”

 

“Have they told you such?”

 

Sanghyuk barked laughter. “ _No_. But if they _had_. . .”

 

“They wouldn't anyhow. You're too good at what you do. There isn't a person in the world that would tell you that you aren't any good.”

 

Desperate to change the subject, for his heart had started to dance inside him as it often did when Taekwoon paid him respect, Sanghyuk looked to the sky and blurted with a voice so unrefined he felt foolish: “Lovely day, isn't it?”

 

Taekwoon looked up, curiously. “I suppose.”

 

It was a murky November morning with clouds as grey as gunmetal and the wind was terribly cold. It was not at all a lovely day, but Taekwoon appeased him warily.

 

“Since it's so nice out, would you like to go somewhere?”

 

“In your car?”

 

“Of course my car, how else?”

 

This struck Sanghyuk as particularly funny. He giggled and traipsed and knocked Taekwoon playfully away as they left campus toward student parking. They hadn't anywhere in the world to go, but on they went down the dirt roads leading away from the university and out towards town where the bars stood open very early into the mornings and where one could find a restaurant for nearly any kind of food one wanted. But they did not eat and they did not drink, but instead kept driving until they came to a lake much like the one Sanghyuk had described.

 

He said as much as they left the car behind for the shivering cold of the lake's drift.

 

“I thought so,” Taekwoon said.

 

“Is that why we came?”

 

Taekwoon nodded. He left Sanghyuk momentarily for the trunk of the car where he took out a large fleece blanket. “I have to study a little.”

 

“I don't mind.”

 

So they sat by the water with the blanket spread out over top them, shielding them only a little from the wind. But it was the warmth of each other that kept them from shivering. And as Taekwoon read from his book of prose, reading bits from stories Sanghyuk had never heard before but loved immediately, the sun continued its western crawl across that mid November sky.

 

These had become accustomed things over time. When winter began its quick descent over the university, these drives became less and less frequent. But their time together in the library, in their dorms around campus, were daily happenings hardly skipped. They dined together at dinner time and would retreat to a quiet place where they could tend to their separate studies always with one another present.

 

There had been a handful of times when Hongbin, spurned by Sanghyuk's sudden involvement with Taekwoon, would come along only to feel bored after a short time. He would not nudge Sanghyuk – who sat sketching at the foot of Taekwoon's arm-chair –, but carry on alone with a glance and a smile both smug and curious, but never clarified. And on the rare occasions he would catch Sanghyuk alone in his dorm, Hongbin would fall into bed beside his friend and wonder aloud: “Where's your boy? Why isn't he here?” to which Sanghyuk would simply answer, never giving thought to what Hongbin might mean.

 

It could have been that because in all his nineteen years, Sanghyuk had never felt the emotional attraction he felt when around Taekwoon that he failed to catch the knowing glances Hongbin offered him. But simply put, there was no denying – no matter the cause – that Taekwoon was beautiful. This, Sanghyuk understood clearly; and he understood it most on nights when it rained. When Taekwoon would sit beside the radiator, warming himself as he smoked. He would look so small with his body bunched up to keep warm that an impulse would overcome Sanghyuk to drape himself across Taekwoon's shoulders, across his lap, anywhere to keep close and to keep his cheeks from turning any rosier. Of course he never did these things, but it was the desire he felt to do them that so suddenly made him shy. But even then, if Taekwoon called him to come, Sanghyuk would come. If Taekwoon asked him of his day, Sanghyuk would speak. It was as if for all this time, Sanghyuk only desired to do the things Taekwoon wanted of him, because of the way Taekwoon looked at him when he was pleased. It was greater than any look his Mother had given him in youth; better than the awe-inspired expressions from his professors. It was a different affection altogether that Sanghyuk unwittingly chased with growing need, but always with a ceaseless fear inside him.

 

 

 

 

⯈4  December. The clouds bloomed a threatening grey. Snow did not fall, but the weather reports dared it to. It was the weekend before holiday break and Sanghyuk was in the library, watching as frost collected on the windowpanes.

 

Taekwoon was somewhere among the shelves, loitering abound for books for the holiday weeks to come. He called out, softly but still heard, titles he thought amusing, titles he thought Sanghyuk would enjoy; others he simply wanted to say because he liked the way they sounded aloud.

 

“I won't have time to read,” Sanghyuk told him. He left the window to stand beside his friend, watching with amusement as Taekwoon flipped precariously through a book before tossing it onto a table beside a stack of many others.

 

“Why not?” Taekwoon asked.

 

“I'll have the house to worry about. Overseeing the garden in winter can be rough sometimes.”

 

“You need a groundskeeper.”

 

“Well, even a groundskeeper deserves a holiday, don't you think so?”

 

Taekwoon hummed noncommittally, not bothering to look away from his stack of books. “I was hoping to see you over the break.”

 

“Won't you be with your family?”

 

“Sure. But I'd still like to see you.”

 

Sanghyuk's heart thrummed mercilessly. He leaned against the bookshelf in hopes of regaining strength in his legs. “Really? I guess we could.”

 

“It'll be much better too. Because we won't be confined to this small place. We can go out into the cities, we could go anywhere you'd like.”

 

“You say that like we can go very far,” Sanghyuk laughed, giddy with excitement. “Like we can go all the way to another place altogether.”

 

“We can go as far as you'd like.” Taekwoon looked over his books, finding Sanghyuk's gaze and returning it. “Anywhere in the world.”

 

“Oh. . .” Sanghyuk turned away, smiling as he felt his face warm. “That would be fine.”

 

He returned to the window where the world burned cold and blue, largely aware of Taekwoon's approach. But Taekwoon did not take up beside him as Sanghyuk had expected him to, but rather wrapped his arms around Sanghyuk's shoulders. He laid his head against his arm, sighing as he relaxed forward.

 

“Are you leaving Monday?” Taekwoon asked.

 

“Tomorrow,” Sanghyuk replied, strained by the beating of his own heart.

 

“Would it be all right if I stayed with you tonight, before you leave tomorrow? I still have to pack and everything is. . .” He made a fuss with his hands as if to sign how disarrayed his dorm room was. But all the time, Taekwoon kept himself pressed to Sanghyuk's back. Surely, Sanghyuk thought, Taekwoon could feel the beating of his pulse.

 

“Mine too,” Sanghyuk said. “But, if you really want to.”

 

“I do.”

 

“Then. . .yeah,” he smiled over his shoulder. “That sounds all right.”

 

It was a long while before they left the library in favor of the dorms. Students filed from their rooms with bags over their shoulders, horsing around for the last time for a long time; and Sanghyuk watched them with growing admiration. He liked university an awful lot these past weeks and it was a sort of sadness to see that already six months had gone by.

 

In the room, among the clutter, Taekwoon sat on the bed. He wasted no time immersing himself into one of many books he brought along.

 

“When we come back from break,” Sanghyuk began, “will you finally try your hand at writing?”

 

“I might. I might not.”

 

“That isn't an answer.”

 

“Because I haven't one. We'll have to wait and see.”

 

Hongbin stopped by for a short moment, collecting what trinkets he had left in Sanghyuk's room over the course of the semester. He took a large jacket, a textbook he was relieved to have found, and a belt Sanghyuk could not remember asking to borrow. Then he left with a hint of smile and promised to write over the break.

 

When alone again, the silence was astounding.

 

“Taekwoon, if you don't see me over the holiday, do you think you'll miss me?”

 

“Quite. That's why I want to see you. I know myself well and I'm terrible with time away.”

 

“Why do you think that is?”

 

“I've become used to you.”

 

Sanghyuk laughed. “Is that the only reason why?”

 

“Well, I guess I can say I've become fond of you too.” Smiling as he spoke and not allowing Sanghyuk to grab his attention, Taekwoon went on: “What do you think, Hyukie? That I don't value your company?”

 

“I never said that.”

 

“Are you thinking it?”

 

Sanghyuk turned away, his ears reddening, but did not feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. “I like poking fun at you. Maybe I wanted to hear that you'll miss me, because you can't live without me.”

 

Dramatically, with a flourish, Taekwoon declared: “Oh, I could _never_ go on without you, Sanghyuk. I think of you always and can't imagine life without your friendship!”

 

He was teasing terribly. But Sanghyuk relished in the fever that rose inside him. He felt sated and loved and could not figure out the sudden urge he had to be very near the other. He climbed into bed beside Taekwoon and rest his head against his shoulder. It was not the first time they had taken to this position – Taekwoon with his back against the wall and Sanghyuk brought in close to his side – and Sanghyuk felt very fine being there, as if safe from the rest of the world.

 

“Lucky for you, Taekwoonie, I will clear my schedule the moment I'm home and you'll come whenever you want to.”

 

“That's all I ask for.”

 

It was dark and verging on late, so Taekwoon put away his book and turned out the light. They lay side by side in a strained and strange manner that neither of them were very comfortable in. Though neither of them knew what the other was thinking, they both wished for distraction. Music from the radio, the television turned to a late-night talk show; anything that would fill the void that suppressed them. When this relief did not come, they resorted to feigned sleep. The clicking of the analog all they had to focus on.

 

Then, in the dark, a long time after they attempted sleep, Taekwoon turned over so that he and Sanghyuk faced one another.

 

“I have something to tell you.”

 

Sanghyuk stirred lightly. “Go on.”

 

“But I don't know how to say it.”

 

“Well, I guess you should just say it, then. No use in making a big deal of it.”

 

“If it was so easy, I'd have done it by now.”

 

Sanghyuk tensed as he felt the faint touch of Taekwoon's hand. It was like a sort of dance, a marital commitment in the dark – like the coming together of two – that Sanghyuk edged closer to the warmth of Taekwoon's body. He felt the familiarity of those soft, nimble hands enclose around him and smelled the cologne on Taekwoon's collar. They lay together, pressed close to one another, the rise and fall of their chests as one. It was more intimate than an ordinary embrace but oddly separate as if either boy struggled with their own understanding of what this touch meant. Sanghyuk found himself threading arms around Taekwoon's back. He pulled him closer, as close as he could, and felt the press of Taekwoon's mouth against his brow. It was this deliberate affection – not at all like the usual affection Taekwoon offered him – that forced Sanghyuk back into himself. He turned away quickly, suddenly, trembling as he moved away from Taekwoon.

 

In haste, he said, “Goodnight,” hearing only a faint response as he closed his eyes.

 

After a moments pause, Taekwoon whispered: “I love you.”

 

“Go to sleep. I have to leave early.”

 

“You don't have to worry. I don't expect you to share my feelings, and of course, you don't have to love me too. I only wanted to tell you.”

 

“. . .I'm tired.”

 

“Goodnight, then.”

 

•••

 

 

In the morning, Sanghyuk was surprised to find himself alone. Taekwoon had left some time in the night. Most likely soon after Sanghyuk had fallen asleep. This did not surprise him, but to see the empty side of the bed and to feel the surge of abandonment that came heady and all at once was stifling. He dressed slowly and packed even slower as he finished putting his belongings into packs, into the closet to be cared for upon his return. It was only after he finished that he realized he had been waiting all this time, hoping Taekwoon would return.

 

His Mother was to pick him up after breakfast and together they would head home, where the sky was not as grey and the snow did not threaten as it had threatened the school for more than a week. But before she came, Sanghyuk fled the fields and went to the dorm house across the courtyards, where Taekwoon spent much of his time. There, he knocked on Taekwoon's door, hoping to apologize for his curt response the night before. He wanted to find a ground the two of them could comfortably stand upon. He had to explain that he did not quite understand love in any real sense of the word, but yes: he felt so much for Taekwoon. He woke to thoughts of him, dreamed of him fretfully on nights when he could not sleep the whole night through; and if Taekwoon could better understand these things, then he could help Sanghyuk understand as well. But as it was, Taekwoon was not in his dorm. His belongings were not in his room. He had left some time in the morning as Sanghyuk still slept, going away into the city, somewhere Sanghyuk did not know how to reach.

 

It was with great loneliness that he pulled himself from Taekwoon's room, down to the courtyard where his Mother awaited him.

 

 

 

 

⯈5  The first night home did not prove as difficult as Sanghyuk had feared it would be. With regret heavy in his belly, he was able to smile when first greeted by his Mother; and for the night that followed, filled with the intimacy of his Mother's company – so much like returning to an old friend he had not heard from in such a long time – Sanghyuk was able to forget the pain that so needled him from the night before.

 

But it was as he lay in bed and thought of the way Taekwoon had held him that he would shiver, terrified of the stirrings in his own mind. He wondered if Taekwoon had meant for his touch to be so intimate. Had the kiss been intentional or had it simply happened because of the way Sanghyuk had forced Taekwoon nearer. It was impossible to tell on his own and stupid to think otherwise. But still, Sanghyuk thought over all the moments which lead up to this one confession: the hours spent together; trips off campus and intimate gatherings of two. He thought of the way Taekwoon had sounded in the dark, so very small and afraid when he had whispered _I love you_.

 

— _I don't expect you to share my feelings, and of course you don't have to love me too._

 

What had any of it meant? It terrified Sanghyuk to wonder and so with fear, with passion, so many things burning inside him, Sanghyuk did the unthinkable and slept. He did not dream, but woke thinking of only Taekwoon. He did not stir in the night, but felt impossibly drained upon waking. And he moved through the day with the uneasiness of someone terribly ill. He could not think and so did not try to; and he could not eat and so only drank the tea his Mother brewed him. All the time he thought of Taekwoon and wished to know how to reach him, for he had not left an address which Sanghyuk could write to. He brooded interminably, making up scenarios in his head where Taekwoon would appear on the doorstep, his car idling at the end of the drive, rain in his hair and not a worry between them.

 

“You ought to just look him up in the phone book,” Hongbin suggested when confided in. “I'm sure he's in there. Or you can go back to the school and ask for the director's personal phone number. You might have to argue a bit, but I bet the secretary will hand it over. _If_ you have a good enough story.”

 

Sanghyuk looked at Hongbin, aghast. It was all too unimaginable. This realization depressed him greatly.

 

“Why didn't you just tell him you love him back?”

 

“I was caught off guard. I didn't know _what_ to say.”

 

“But, you do, don't you? Love him? I mean, it's obvious, but. . .”

 

“Is it?”

 

“Afraid so.” Hongbin touched Sanghyuk's shoulder in a boyish manner as if unsure how to comfort his friend. He said, “It isn't a bad thing. He loves you, you love him. It doesn't _have_ to be difficult.”

 

“Is it possible he didn't mean it the way I've taken it? Maybe he is only saying it in a friendly manner? He loves me, but only just?”

 

Hongbin watched him incredulously. “Well,” he laughed. “I mean, I _suppose_ it's a possibility.”

 

“ _Wonderful—_ ” Sanghyuk threw himself onto the sofa.

 

They were in the drawing room of Sanghyuk's house, where the sunlight poured in golden and warm. It turned the floorboards from their dusty brown to an amber color that reflection the light the way water sometimes does in the spring. Sanghyuk lay with one arm thrown off the sofa, the tips of his fingers grazing the floor. He sighed dramatically and closed his eyes.

 

“I'm telling you, Hyukie. Check the phone book.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Hongbin paused at the door. He had on his coat and the hat he had come wearing. “Off. I don't want to be late for dinner. My Mother will kill me.”

 

It was impossible to imagine going back to campus, and because he had no means of finding a phone book that was not outdated, Sanghyuk reverted to sulking.

 

He spoke indifferently and would not confide in his Mother when she jeered him lightly to open up. He self-loathed himself into a despondent and miserable state and found after each day that he could not remember much of what he had done as if he had been drunk all the time. He could not stand the hardship he was forcing upon himself and so, on the last day of the week, Sanghyuk plunged himself into society. With Hongbin with him, he took the tram from the meadows into town where the two of them took up in a bar called The Lighthouse; and together they drank and mused over the first semester of the year. But even then, Sanghyuk found it difficult to stray from the topic of Taekwoon. It was as if in his absence, Sanghyuk was desperate to remind Hongbin that Taekwoon did, in fact, exist. He wanted badly to force into Hongbin's mind all the memories that he and Taekwoon shared, no matter how dull.

 

“I hardly care to know what the two of you did in the third week of November,” Hongbin teased. He was in good spirits and did not speak again as Sanghyuk told him of The Waste Land and of Taekwoon's unearthly passion for the classics.

 

“I can't read anything by Plato,” Sanghyuk said. “But Taekwoon can. I don't know how he does it. I can never wrap my head around any word that man writes, but Taekwoon. . .”

 

“Yes, we get it, Hyukie. Your boy is an intelligent boy. An intellect and all that good stuff. Much smarter than all us others. But I must say, Plato isn't very difficult. Maybe you aren't patient enough.”

 

“It's possible.”

 

“Did you try the phone book, by the way?”

 

“Yes,” Sanghyuk lied. “But to no success.”

 

“I was afraid of that. I heard the director was unlisted when I went to check for you. No matter!” Hongbin reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small piece of paper. “I called the school up and gave a wonderful dramatic explanation as to why I would need to contact the director so shortly, and thus!” He handed Sanghyuk the paper. “They gave me his home number so that I may telephone him. All for you, of course.”

 

Sanghyuk stared in disbelief. Fear and excitement and all things in between mingled inside him so that he could not grab the paper at once, but rather sit dumbstruck and staring.

 

“How did you...?”

 

“Unimportant! The important thing now is that you can call him up and meet together to talk about all your passionate throes in life and love and all that garbage.” Hongbin grinned. “You can repay me another time. Maybe next semester when I need help on my literary final.”

 

But even with the paper in front of him, kept safely in his pocket on the train ride home, Sanghyuk was not sure if he could bring himself to make the call. He wondered if it was a step too far to disturb Taekwoon at home. Then he wondered when their friendship had become such a strange endeavor.

 

It was on 12 December, nearly two weeks into the holiday vacation, that Sanghyuk received an answer. It came in the form of a letter signed and dated two days prior, in the sordid hand Sanghyuk had come to familiarize with Taekwoon.

 

 

 

 

⯈6

 

_Sanghyuk, _

_ Please forgive me for my hasty departure our last day together and for my lack of contact these last weeks. I have thought of you daily and have wanted badly to reach you, but our last night together put a fear in me I had been anticipating. I think because I had expected your anger, I imagined it on that night alone with you. I mistook your despondency for hatred and left accordingly, so to avoid argument. But in this time away from you, I have thought hard and I have realized it was unjust that I left the way that I did: without means of contacting me. Not even an address to write to me. I may have done this on purpose, I can't be sure. Maybe a Freudian Slip as they say? _

_ I have been well in my time away. My Father has been holding meetings with his colleagues near daily. My Mother fusses that he does not include her in these meetings, but I know he does not because she would be bored to death. Same for myself. So the house is quiet at night, but lively in the days in a way that I can't stomach. I think of those times we had in the library and in the dorms, when everything would be sound and just. I miss those times terribly and I miss you as well. _

_ Will you write to me, I wonder. Or did I not imagine the tension in your voice that night? I wonder if you are upset with me. If you do decide to contact me before the holiday's end, please do not bring up what happened. It would embarrass me to reminisce over something that I would soon forget. _

 

Taekwoon

 

 

 

 

⯈7  It was as if Sanghyuk could not reach the telephone fast enough. He could not lift the receiver without dropping it back into the cradle, for his hands trembled terrifically; and once the line began to ring, he dared himself to hang up at once. He might have, had Taekwoon's voice not flooded his head.

 

“Yes?” was the informal answer.

 

“Taekwoon?”

 

“Y _es_?”

 

Speaking gently over the line, unsure if he wanted to be heard or not, for he could hardly prepare a thought on his own, Sanghyuk murmured, “I've received your letter, just now.”

 

It was a very long time before Taekwoon responded. Breathless and perplexed, he asked: “Sanghyukie, is that you?”

 

“Will you come see me?”

 

“Right now?”

 

“Right now.”

 

“Is something the matter?”

 

Sanghyuk looked out the window and found that it was dark. He could not be sure how late it was, but hoped it was not very. “No, nothing. I miss you, that's all.”

 

“You must if you're asking me to come at this time.”

 

“It isn't too late, is it?”

 

“Not yet. But it might be by the time I reach you.”

 

“Come anyway,” Sanghyuk pleaded softly. “Stay the night. I have a guest room that you can use.”

 

“Seriously, Hyukie,” laughed Taekwoon. “You want me there right this moment?”

 

“Sooner than now if you can.”

 

“All right. I'll be there.”

 

“I'll wait for you outside.”

 

“It might rain.”

 

“I'll wait, still. I don't mind.”

 

And wait he did, out in the cold where the wind blew unforgiving. Wrapped in a blanket with a jacket underneath, Sanghyuk sat on the porch of his Grandfather's estate and watched the road. It took a very long time. Long enough that he feared Taekwoon would not make it at all. But then, above the hillside, out across the meadows towards town was the steady glare of coming headlights.

 

Taekwoon came nicely dressed. He wore a plaid sports coat with solid black slacks; the shine of patent leather on his feet. Despite the cold and the lingering damp of coming rain, Taekwoon looked pieced together as perfectly as ever. Sanghyuk longed to touch him, but touch him he did not.

 

“Come inside,” Sanghyuk said, rushing to the house. He was startled by the touch of Taekwoon's hand. How, as he reached for the front door, Taekwoon swept his hand into his own and held onto him tightly.

 

“I told you it was cold,” he said. “Your fingers are frozen. Why did you stay out here?”

 

“I was too excited not to.”

 

Taekwoon smiled at this response, but said nothing.

 

“You didn't pack anything?” Sanghyuk inquired once noticing how light Taekwoon had traveled. There was nothing on his person but for a pack of cigarettes.

 

“No. I don't think I'll stay the night. But I'll stay a while, if you'd like me to. I'll stay until you're ready for sleep.” He stopped. “What is it?”

 

“It's just that. . . you drove all this way.”

 

“I don't mind it.”

 

“And it's already late at night.”

 

“Not _too_ late, of course.”

 

“Taekwoon.”

 

It was too obvious the discomfort his friend felt and because of this Sanghyuk could not find comfort either. He struggled to stand without trembling and felt only the bitter weight of heartbreak well up inside him.

 

“I want to talk with you,” he said, feeling faint. He spoke quietly as if defeated already.

 

“I know you do.”

 

“We need to talk.”

 

“I don't think we really should. _I_ don't have anything to talk about. I wrote it all in the letter.”

 

“But,—”

 

Taekwoon turned sharply. “I _apologized_ , Sanghyukie. We don't have to talk about it now.”

 

“But I love you.”

 

“Oh—” Taekwoon laughed. He waved Sanghyuk's words away like plumes of smoke from a burning cigarette. He waved and waved and moved away as if he could not find enough space to put between them. “You don't have to lie.”

 

“I'm not lying. I wanted to tell you the morning after. Right away, I did.” Sanghyuk reached for him. “I went to your room, but you weren't there and I thought, _Oh, he'll come to me this holiday_. But you didn't. And I thought you'd never come again and that it would all end because I was caught off guard.”

 

“Caught off guard?”

 

“I've never heard those words before.” Sanghyuk went quickly to Taekwoon's side at the first sight of his softened expression. Beside him, Sanghyuk felt large and heavy but not at all strong.

 

“I wanted to tell you, but you ran away,” Sanghyuk continued.

 

“I was nervous.”

 

“Well, you don't have to be now. Because I love you – no, Taekwoon, don't – don't turn away from me. Why don't you believe me?”

 

“I don't know.” Taekwoon braced a hand against the mantel mounted on the wall. In the living area, where the two of them stood, blue moonlight filtered through the windows. “I'm still nervous.”

 

“I love you,” Sanghyuk whispered.

 

“Yes, well. That's quite. . .”

 

“You don't love me anymore?”

 

“Of course I do,” Taekwoon declared, frightfully worked up. He scowled with his mouth pinched tightly shut. “I love you always. But I don't think you _understand_. I don't think it's the same love.”

 

“Then what kind of love do you mean?”

 

The fear that had kept him placid over the days rose up and roused his heart to no end. He was certain now that Taekwoon would explain that he hadn't the romantic kind of love. That all his heart held was something platonic – the love two friends are meant to carry for one another.

 

“Taekwoon—” Something seized his heart and strangled it. “What kind of love do you mean?”

 

Taekwoon did not answer this time nor the next when Sanghyuk, stepping forward, whispered against his cheek, demanding softly, _tell me, please? If you don't, how am I supposed to understand?_

 

“It embarrasses me.” But this confession did not stop Taekwoon from resting hands upon Sanghyuk's body. “The amount of time I spend thinking of you. It hurts me sometimes when I realize just how much of my life is spent wondering about you.”

 

Sanghyuk pressed forward. “And you don't believe me when I say I think of you too?”

 

“I do. But only a little.”

 

“Won't you stay tonight? At least tonight. It isn't fair that you came so far, but will leave soon because it's late. And I want to spend the morning with you.”

 

He put up a fight. He argued lightly and said that he could not _possibly_ miss breakfast with his Father. His colleagues would be there. It would be up to Taekwoon to brew the tea and to set the table alongside his Mother. But even as he spoke, Sanghyuk could see that Taekwoon would not leave. It was shown in the way Taekwoon's hand never left the small of Sanghyuk's back. How, when the clock chimed a quarter past eleven, Taekwoon did not fuss. He brushed a hand over his brow and looked out the window where the sky had cleared to a deep black.

 

“Stay,” Sanghyuk pleaded. He pressed his mouth to the collar of Taekwoon's button-down. “Please?”

 

“What will we do in the morning?”

 

Either boy spoke sorrowfully; their voices pitched very low and far away. Even with their bodies pressed tightly together against the mantle, it was almost impossible to hear.

 

“We'll have something to eat and walk in the meadows. If you want?”

 

“Anything,” Taekwoon said. “As long as it's what you want.”

 

Sanghyuk did not know how to explain to Taekwoon that it wasn't what they did that so mattered to him, but that they did it alongside one another. Perhaps, he mused later in the dark of his own room – Taekwoon far away, down the hall, in a room of his own – that this was what Taekwoon had meant all those times before.

 

That night, sleep would not come. The rain did not fall and the moon soon shined down across the foot of Sanghyuk's bed. The birds began to chirrup and the wind rattled the panes. All of this, and sleep never once touched down upon him.

 

He left his room for the kitchen, thinking a glass of water would help him adjust to the strange stifling air that now burdened him, but it was not until Sanghyuk stepped into the guest room and knelt beside the bed that he understood what he was doing.

 

He leaned down with careful ease, the palm of one hand pressed flush to Taekwoon's warm cheek. The other hovered just out of sight as if he was searching in the dark for Taekwoon's hand to hold. Breathing soft bursts of warmth across Taekwoon's face, Sanghyuk whispered his name. He spoke louder only when Taekwoon stirred.

 

Then, with a start, he called out: “ _Hyuk—_ ”

 

“I know,” Sanghyuk soothed. He kissed the bridge of Taekwoon's nose. He kissed the curve of his upper lip and smoothed a hand down his chest, feeling the deep pulse inside him like the beat of a war drum so very near.

 

“I know. . .” Sanghyuk said again. “It's all right, Taekwoonie. . .”

 

He kissed and was kissed back as Taekwoon pulled on the back of his pajama shirt. Then pulled Sanghyuk into bed beside him. All the time they did not part and the world did not end as Taekwoon had so believed it would. Everything was just as it had always been, except now Sanghyuk had a name for the way his heart beat inside him. Kissed breathless with blood drumming his ears, Sanghyuk closed his eyes and fell away to some place new, where it seemed there was no one – no one at all – but Taekwoon.

 

 


End file.
